


5 + 1 Times Geralt Was Gentle

by Faetality



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt of Rivia is actually nice, Mostly gen fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: Geralt wasn’t “nice” but he could be gentle... sometimes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 337





	5 + 1 Times Geralt Was Gentle

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [5+1 Times Geralt Was Gentle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265565) by [SankaMalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SankaMalfoy/pseuds/SankaMalfoy)



The sun was beginning its descent when he heard it. The tiny sound from beneath the abandoned cart. The tiny rapid fast heartbeat that made his own steps slow. _Keep walking, Geralt._

Then it comes again and he doesn’t have much choice but to move closer. He kneels and edges himself halfway beneath the wagon, hand outstretched. “Come on…” he closed two fingers around the creature’s scruff. He drags it closer and backs out, tiny teeth dig into his finger.  
“That’s rude.” 

*

“How much for the mare?”

“You don’t want that one, trust me. She’s temperamental and as likely to buck you into a river as get you into town.” 

“How much?” 

“Fifteen marks.” Geralt narrows his eyes but passes the coin over. 

The mare snorts when he takes her reins, the leather of them barely in piece anymore. That’s fine though, he doesn’t need it. She fights him most the way out of town but that’s fine to. Or it is up to the point she butts him in the back and send him stumbling to a knee. He turns and glares, usually creates feared him- human and animal alike. This one stared back and he huffed. 

“Work with me here, girl.” 

*

Geralt didn’t do well with crying. Even without his training He would never have been the person to be someone’s shoulder to cry on. He wouldn’t want to be. It was intensely uncomfortable. Even so, here he was with tears on his armor and a body at his feet. She’s shaking harder than a leaf in a thunderstorm, hands balled into fists against his chest. 

Slowly, unsure of exactly what the plan was that his body had begun to act upon, he curls an arm around her shoulders and it is as though she breaks beneath the touch. 

“I’m sorry- please don’t- I’m sorry…”

“I’ll take you home.” 

*

He still had guts on his boots and blood in his hair when he knocked on the door of the little house. Andrea was an elderly woman, her children having left her with the farm, only two having stayed to help run it. 

The monster that had taken to killing their livestock was nothing much to take care of. Andrea opens the door and takes in his appearance with a critical eye. “It is done?” Her accent his heavy like the callouses on her palms when they close around his forearm to pull him inside. “Come. Have food before you leave. I will get your coin.” 

The purse is heavy for its small size but it may as well be a boulder for how it sits in his chest to take it. Blue eyes stare up at him and he finds himself pressing the coin back into her hands with a smile he's sure is half grimace. 

“Keep it. The food is enough.”

*

“Don’t move, you’re wounded.” 

“Wounded?” In true fashion she ignores his request and tries to sit. She makes it a few inches before biting down in a cry and hitting the bed once more. 

“I said don’t move.” He comes to her side, rags in hand. “You’re healing fast but it’s going to scar.”

“What’s a few more to the collection?” There are dark circles beneath her eyes and her hair is plastered to her temples with sweat. “Yen…” He Shakes his head, simply reaches out and brushes the hair back from her face. “Rest until morning at least. I’ll keep guard.”

*

Geralt wasn’t practiced in this. The way hands explore his skin not with a purpose but in the unhurriedness of a wanderer. No intention except to feel and to learn and to be alive. It’s strange and terrifying but welcome even more so. 

In the half light of morning he’s inclined to feign sleep if only to avoid the chance his bedmate might quit. “G’ morning, Geralt.” Is mumbled into the spot between his shoulder blades and he knows he’s been caught out. He twists, slides an arm under Jaskier’s waist, and pulls him to they are pressed chest to chest. 

“Morning.” 

“Do we have to pack now?”

Geralt takes him in. His hair is mussed and there’s a sleepy smile on the bard’s lips. The string calloused fingertips start again their journey, skirting the necklace and sliding over his rib cage. It’s with a smile he would never show the world that he presses a kiss to the man’s forehead, lips lingering. 

“Another hour.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I appreciate y’all  
> As always feel free to drop in at faetxlity or faetalwords over on Tumblr for prompts, chat, and incoherent rambling


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